


Ruffled Feathers

by magical_octopus333



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Crimes, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock Challenge, but mostly for fluff, orinthophobia, very small kinda angst bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:17:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7636342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magical_octopus333/pseuds/magical_octopus333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sherlock?”<br/>  “Hmm?”<br/>“There’s a bird…” <br/>  “... what?”<br/>“In the living room. There is a bird… on the bloody carpet…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruffled Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for mild swearing. This is for the Sherlock Challenge July 2016, "Domestic Crimes".

 

John yawned as he woke up, nuzzling his head into the dark curls ducked below his chin after. The light filtered from a crack of the curtains, shining light over the pair as they lay in bed together in the morning’s calm.  

John smiled as he stared at Sherlock as he stirred against his chest, blinking slowly before staring up at John. Their eyes met and John whispered, “Good Morning, Honey. How’d you sleep?”

Sherlock sighed, a small sleepy smile spreading as he felt John’s arms tighten slightly around him. Sherlock rested his head against his lover’s chest before mumbling out a reply.

“Slept alright, Jawn. Had dream where we had breakfast in bed and that the napkins turned into doves for some bloody reason…”

John brought one hand up and combed his fingers through Sherlock’s hair gently, messing with his bed head sweetly.

“Do you want me to go make breakfast and bring it back to bed?” John asked as Sherlock sighed against his chest. 

“In a bit, yes please…”, Sherlock replied, laying a kiss on John’s chest before pulling back with a pouty face. ‘Adorable…’, John thought as Sherlock crossed his arms and glared.

“You’re wearing a shirt…”

“Yeah…”

“You shouldn’t be…”

John giggled at that, causing Sherlock to frown further. Sherlock looked up at John, rolling his eyes before glaring once more at the gray fabric covering his chest. 

“Well, I probably wouldn’t be wearing pajamas if someone hadn’t stayed up late again last night on experiment. I know that you haven’t gotten a case in a while, but you’ve been doing experiments all week… There are other things we could be doing, you know.”

Sherlock stiffened, then curled into himself, pulling back from John with a mumbled sorry. John sighed, sitting up and putting his hand on Sherlock’s leg. 

“I meant snuggling and watching James Bond or other classic movies. Not _ that _ . I know you’re not interested much in that aspect of relationships, and I won’t push it. But if you say no to cuddling, I may be a bit annoyed…”

Sherlock looked up at John through the curls falling on his face and smiled. John gently brought his left hand up to Sherlock’s forehead and pushed the curls back before cupping his face. He sat forward halfway and Sherlock met him halfway. It was quick as John pulled back  and brought his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up and turned back around to see Sherlock staring at him, the question written in the draw of his eyebrows

“Sorry, Sherlock. To make breakfast, I can’t stay in bed kissing you… that can wait until after we’ve eaten breakfast… and brushed our teeth, your morning breath is terrible.”

John easily caught the pillow tossed at his head, throwing it back onto the bed before stalking out into the kitchen. He shivered slightly, before turning filling the pot with water for tea and setting it to boil. He crossed his arms over his chest, heading out to the living room area to see if he left a jumper in the living room. That's when he saw  _ it. _

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“There’s a bird…” 

“... what?”

“In the living room. There is a bird… on the bloody carpet…”

Sherlock sighed before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up slowly. He grabbed one of his dressing gown from where it was hung on his closet door and slipped it on as it went through the kitchen stopping at the edge as he saw his boyfriend staring in confusion and- dare he say it- astonishment at the grey bird sat upon the floor. The look on his face was adorable, Sherlock decided as he put a hand on John’s shoulder. 

“That is a bird, John. Nice deduction.”

John turned his head slightly to glare lightly at Sherlock, who smirked back at him. John looked around the room a moment before his eyes fell on the window, open.

“Honey, you left the window open, again! That's why it's a bit nippy in here… that and how the… creature… got in” 

John said ‘creature’ in such disgust as he moved away from the bird as it hoped closer, having noticed the pair of men watching it.

“John… are you frightened by a  _ bird? _ ” Sherlock asked gently, with a quiet sincerity as his boyfriend stared down at the bird. John was focused on the bird and when it hoped closer, he jerked back, one arm reaching out and pulling Sherlock with him. 

“You’re scared of a bird?”

John turned and glared at Sherlock, before facing the bird once more. He glowered at the bird for a few moments before turning around and went through the kitchen and up the stairs. Sherlock stared after him in confusion before looking back at the bird. John made a noise of triumph from the upstairs room before quickly descending down the stairs. Sherlock turned and his eyes widened at seeing the gun in John’s left hand.

“John! Don’t shoot it!” Sherlock whispered yelled, stepping back. John sighed and turned to him.

“And why the hell  _ would _ I kill the bastard? Then I’d have to clean it up  _ and  _ deal with the police instead of cuddling with my boyfriend. No, I need to clean the gun later tonight. Here, put it in our room for now, while I take care of the bird.”

John handed the gun over, and showed Sherlock the broom in his other hand. Sherlock tried to say something in reply, but John had turned to the bird, a focused expression on his  face as he stared it down. Sherlock shook his head and went into the bedroom to hide the gun incase John changed his mind on not using it. He was deciding on whether or not he should help John when he heard him yell and a crash came out. 

He dashed out as quickly as he could to the sight of the bird flying into the kitchen, followed behind by a fuming John. Sherlock had to cover his mouth in an attempt not to laugh at his lover’s tribulation.

“This little devil flew straight at me… it's like he’s mocking me…” John growled as he stared at the grey bird sat atop the fridge. “Do you think maybe the gun-”

“Then the fridge- and anything it’s blood splatters on- will need to be cleaned, and the gunshot would-”

“First off,” John interupted, “ the bastard crapped on the carpet already, so I have to do cleaning anyway. Secondly, there may or maynot be a silencer on it left on from an old case…” John replied, still eyeing the bird but with a slightly guilty look. 

“We could leave it a food trail to the window instead of avicide, dear.” Sherlock said, leaning against the wall near the fridge.

John turned to Sherlock at that and cocked his head to the side, an eyebrow raised. “I don’t think that would be advisable, Holmes." John replied in a steely voice as he turned to stare at the bird once more. Sherlock stiffened at the use of his last name, starring as his lover raised the broom slightly. He realized with a start that John went into soldier mode which he only does when the situation is dire and/or when...

  "Ornithophobia..."

  "What?" John barked, hands tightly gripped around the broom he wielded.

"Ornithophobia. The fear of birds..."

John’s shoulders tensed and he lowered his broom slightly, before looking down as he attempts to steady himself. 

“I am not afraid of birds. I just don’t like them. They’re messy and obnoxious creatures that hate all other living creatures. Plus… when I was younger… nevermind, it's stupid. I’m stupid. Let’s just get rid of this damn bird, alright?” 

He sounded more resigned towards the end of his words, and 

John raised the broom once more, staring at the bird with venom and swung the broom at the bird, causing it to jump of the fridge and fly out of the kitchen. John stalked behind it, swinging the broom at it once more when it landed on the mantel. It took a few more attacks by John, but it eventually made it's way out the window. John slammed the window closed once it was out and threw down the broom. 

“And stay out, you rotten bird!” John yelled, smiling victoriously at it's retreating form before fixing the curtain. He went into the kitchen to find Sherlock sipping tea quietly in the kitchen. John sat down from Sherlock, his joy at success slipping away as he looked at Sherlock’s expression.

“I didn’t scare you, love, right? I didn’t mean to… turn soldier and yell at you… I’m sorry.”

John stared at Sherlock, waiting for a response. After a few minutes, John sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Alright. Yes, I am afraid of birds. I know it's stupid. I’m a soldier, I shouldn’t be afraid of anything, I know. I’ve gotten the speech before. When I was younger… my parents put on a movie that was older then I was. It was called The Birds. Basically, birds go nuts and start attacking and killing humans. The movie was freaky, but not enough to make a phobia. Well, later that day, after watching the movie, I went to take a shower. My sister, Harriet, had left open the window… So during my shower, this giant bird flies in the window and into the shower. I swat at it and it fought back… not my most proud moment. And I’ve been afraid of them ever since…I’m an idiot, I know..”

“You’re not an idiot, John.”

John looked up to see Sherlock staring at him with a determined expression. He knew his face probably showed all of his thoughts, shock and confusion.

“John, you’re… Brilliant. You were a soldier and a doctor, went through war and came back out the other side… and you’ve put up with me and all my oddities. You’ve been through hell and highwater and still go on. I could spend a week highlighting every reason why you’re brilliant, but I’d leave out too many for the time being too short. And… I hate it when you call yourself stupid, or an idiot, or berate yourself… You’re important to me and I don’t want you thinking you’re anything less than what you are. And you’re mmf-”

The press of lips was a surprise, not an unwelcome one by any means, though. The kiss lasted a few moments before John pulled back, pressing his forehead against Sherlock’s and whispering, “I am yours, Sherlock.”

“A late breakfast in bed is still pretty good, John.”

“Yeah. Do you wanna snuggle after?”

“Oh god, yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this fic, it is a stand alone one, which is good because I still have others to finish up... Leave comments bellow and have a nice day! (or evening/other time)!


End file.
